children, your time is done; if you say it's done together

[confidenceman]

When James Ford woke up that morning in an unfamiliar building, in a bed larger than the one in his house and a room so bare that it almost reminded him of the hospital, he didn't panic. Most things seemed unfamiliar to him, those days. Places that had once been familiar, like his grandparents' house, like the classrooms in his school, or even the pews of his church, never seemed the same anymore. The world had wrapped itself in velvet, almost, something dark, heavy, and against which James couldn't push very far, keeping him from feeling much of anything of the outside word. Keeping him trapped in his own thoughts. Wherever he was, it didn't matter— he was sure that someone had put him there for a reason, and that someone would find and whisk him away again before long— and so James simply slid his legs off the side of the bed and dropped to the floor.

Whoever had dressed him for bed hadn't done a very good job. The t-shirt that he wore was several sizes too large, and his underpants were just about falling off. Tugging them up as well as he could, James quickly stumbled over to the large dresser in the room, pulling every drawer open until he spotted a few plain t-shirts that looked like they'd only be slightly too big, and a pair of jeans that could be held up well enough with the aid of a belt. Wordlessly dressing himself, James peeked around the rest of the room, a faint voice in the back of his mind reminding him that today was the funeral date.

(And the thought alone brought tears to his eyes, but he shook his head vigorously; mama wouldn't have wanted him to cry.)

He pushed past the curtains of the room, unseeing. Pushed into another room, where a projector was playing cartoons in the background, where a bookshelf was piled high with books. Spotting a pen and pad on a nearby table, James looked carefully around before sliding them off with quiet hands and tucking the pad under his arm. He passed through a kitchen filled with sights, sounds, smells, but it didn't matter— he wasn't hungry. Standing in an empty hall, James looked down both ends, before turning left, to the doors marked as an exit, quietly pushing one just a fraction before he stood under the brilliance of the sun, a porch and steps in front of him.

Peeking around again, James pressed his lips together, walked forward to sit himself on the top step, and laid the pad across his knees. Now that he was alone, he could do this.

Dear Mr. Sawyer, his pen scrawled in uneven writing.


[ Eight-year-old Sawyer, after a night spent in the dorms for easier access to the showers, is now sitting on the front steps of the Compound and writing his famous letter. ST/LT more than welcome, no limit on threads. Replies will come from giveyouthis. ]

Comments

[giveyouthis]

James takes a second to consider the question, but he shakes his head soon enough. No, Mr. Sawyer isn't here. He can't be. Bad people like Mr. Sawyer have to run, otherwise the police catch them real quick, and that hasn't happened, so Mr. Sawyer must be a long, long distance away by now, James thinks, the very thought making him grip his pen more tightly in frustration. Most days, he can't tell whether or not he's scared, or if caring is so far from him now that he could go out there and look for the man himself. It's the indecision that ultimately keeps him rooted in one place, the door out seeming to close further and further every day.

"He ran away," James manages to say in an undertone, his pen carefully meeting paper again.

You don't know who I am but I know who you are and I know what you done.

[lexiepedia.livejournal.com]

You find him, Lexie wants to say, biting her lip with the effort it takes not to. You find him and you kill him and maybe, maybe that's okay. She can't, though. If he doesn't remember anything, then she can't tell him she knows him when he's older, knows about his future. This may not be her forté, but she's pretty sure that would screw with the space-time continuum in some pretty serious ways. If he knows now, surely it would cause trouble, even here, in a place where Mr. Sawyer has never actually been (and God, she hopes never will be, if only because she thinks Sawyer would kill him again, and she doesn't know what she'd do if anyone found out and he went to jail or something).

"I'm sorry," she says, thinking that bears saying regardless, even if she shouldn't technically know who the man he's writing to is, or what he did. "That's gotta suck."

[giveyouthis]

It only takes a second before James' shoulders tense. Maybe she's just trying to be nice, maybe she's just doing what all adults do— watching out for him. He never really noticed how much adults do it, not until his mama and daddy have been gone, anyway. Or maybe she's saying it 'cause it's obvious, maybe James isn't really being a big boy anymore. That thought is enough to pull his shoulders up close to his ears, his back hunched over as his hand slips and the pen drags down the clean sheet of paper, tearing up fibers as it goes. Needing to start over, James simply stares down, his expression blank, before he smooths the paper out with a hand, ink smearing against his palm. Can't even do this right, he thinks to himself, heels kicking against the stairs once more.

"He took their money. My pa's. My mama gave it to him," James says softly, taking a shallow breath.

[lexiepedia.livejournal.com]

Lexie's face falls, just a little, though she tries her best to keep it as even as possible. Just seeing him like this, someone about whom she cares so much, even if she isn't sure what word she would use to define that, it hurts, and hurts even more for the fact that there isn't a damn thing she can do. She can't make him find the first Sawyer any faster, she can't bring his parents back, she can't alter the course he takes after this; all in all, it really sucks. All she can do is be here. That much, though, she has every intention of doing, no matter how difficult it is.

Swallowing hard, she nods shallowly, the look she gives him one of pure understanding, even if that technically isn't something she should be able to offer. "So he tricked her," she says, like she didn't know that already. Glancing at the papers, her eyes widen just a little. "Is there anything I can do to help with that?"

[giveyouthis]

There aren't that many people that James has told the full truth to. Discussing it the first couple of times has been more than enough, and the good thing about adults talking to each other all the time is that they've gotten the word around. James needs to say very little, anymore, and what he's taken away from it all is the fact that secrets never stay secret for long. How this lady doesn't know what happened escapes James, but he does know this: that she understood far more quickly than any of the others.

It's hard not to feel comforted by that.

He shakes his head, nonetheless. This isn't her job. He doesn't want her to get hurt. "No," he replies solemnly, a small sigh slipping through his lips, shoulders slouching. "He's a scary man. If you see him, you gotta run."

[lexiepedia.livejournal.com]

He sounds so serious, so dire, that it makes something turn in the pit of Lexie's stomach. While she doesn't really have any clue what she and Sawyer were or are or will be, she does know that she loves him, in a way, and seeing him like this, so young and yet seeming to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, trying to look out for her, God, it hurts. It shouldn't have to be like this; if anything, someone else should be protecting him, but it's clearly far too late for that. All she can do is try to pick up the pieces, offer something that will hopefully carry over when he's an adult again, because he deserves something so much better. She's not the kind of person who'd ever feel guilty for the childhood she got, practically idyllic, but rather she wishes that everyone else could have known it, too, and that's stronger than ever now.

"I will," she says, though she has no idea what this Sawyer looks like or how she'd be supposed to know it's him. "I promise." She bites her lip. "Do you have anybody looking out for you? Because, because you should stay safe, too."

[giveyouthis]

Everyone's been telling him to be careful and be happy. James thinks that it's pretty hard to get the both of those things together. If you're careful, if you're really careful, then that means that you're also scared, and James can't remember the last time he's been happy and scared at the same time. Not really scared, anyway. Not the kind of scared that has him waking up at night and crying, wishing that his mama would be at his side. He used to think that things like hide and seek were scary enough, but it's really nothing compared to this. But when he really thinks about it, it's not James who should be scared, and it's not him who's scared for himself. He's just worried about other people.

People who actually have something to lose.

"Mr. Sawyer won't come after me," he explains quietly. "I don't got no money, and I don't love him none. He... he pretends to be a hero, like he wants to make your life better. But I know he ain't gonna make mine any better. I don't think he can hurt me, then."

[lexiepedia.livejournal.com]

"Alright," Lexie murmurs, though it's hard, still, for her to leave it at that. Even if this is all an exercise in futility when the real Sawyer isn't anywhere near this place and when this Sawyer is more than capable of taking care of himself when he actually is himself, the fact remains that things aren't right, now, and he shouldn't have to be alone. Whether he even remembers this later or not, he should know that he has someone, that he's cared about, that she would protect him if she could. Tempted to pull him in close to her, she instead rests a hand on his little shoulder, wondering at the very fact of it, how strange it is. "If you think he might, though, you come find me, okay? And you and I will stay somewhere safe together."

[giveyouthis]

He wants to trust her more than almost anything right about now. Definitely more than anything else within his grasp, anyway. No kid wants to be alone, and James is able to recognize this in himself, the loneliness that makes him want to reach out for all of the adults who walk by, even if he doesn't. He doesn't, because he can't be that little boy anymore, always looking for comfort from adults, comfort that might get ripped out right from under him. Instead, his gaze lingers on the hand that rest on his shoulder, pausing. Maybe he just has to lie this time. Maybe that's the only way out.

So he does. "Okay," he lies, even though he know that he won't reach out to no one, not if Mr. Sawyer comes back.

But he does allow himself another look, green eyes flickering up to meet hers. "What's your name?"

[lexiepedia.livejournal.com]

"I'm Lexie," she answers, keeping her hand where it is. Of all of this, she thinks this part has got to be the weirdest, introducing herself to someone she introduced herself to a long time ago, whom she knows, whom she has history with. At least it helps that he's so young and looks so different, that she's without what would typically prompt an immediate spark of recognition in looking at him. She can play along. For his sake, she can, because she's pretty sure he needs it. "I'm a doctor, I work in the clinic inside."

[giveyouthis]

"Lexie," he repeats quietly, committing the name to memory. Names never used to matter all that much, not even just a few weeks ago. With a name as common as James, somehow it became a lot easier for people to forget, substituting in whatever popular name first comes to mind. If it's not James, it's John. If it's not John, it's Jason. James has been called so many names that until recently, he couldn't imagine them actually mattering so much or him needing to ask someone for theirs, but he needs to now. It's a feeling that he won't come to recognize for years yet, what amounts to a lack of trust, but broken hope that still seems to hang on in spite of it.

"Doctor Lexie," he corrects himself. "I'm James."

[lexiepedia.livejournal.com]

"Hi, James," Lexie says, smiling warmly down at him. He's been through a lot, unimaginably so (God, just losing her mother was hard enough, and she was an adult when it happened and her death was in a hospital), but that isn't all there is to him, and she has a feeling that people might have been acting as such lately. Or were back when he was actually this young, whatever. The point is, she might not be able to make a lasting difference, but she can do something now, and he ought to have that. Someone in his corner, someone who cares, someone who doesn't just pity him and who'll forget a little while later. "It's really nice to meet you. I know things have been rough lately, but I promise we're gonna see you through this, okay?"

[giveyouthis]

There's something sweet about her smile. His mama's smile was never really quite like that, because a part of her, James remembers, was always looking away. Looking far into the distance, like she was just waiting for some white knight to come out of the fields and save her. (That storyline only becomes clear now, he thinks to himself, now that enough people have mentioned his mama loving Mr. Sawyer that he can see it too, in retrospect, all the little things that mama and pa once did lowering in number and frequency.) Doctor Lexie seems to only care about her patient, which James supposes is him now, and the kindness it must take and that she's gotta have in her heart is overwhelming to him now as he tries to blink away tears that he can't afford to shed.

And even if he doesn't really believe what she's got to say, it's hard not to hope. That maybe everything's just one giant mistake. "Okay," he replies softly, not because he's entirely convinced. But instead, because there aren't many other options to turn to at all.